It Don't Come Easy
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: A decade after Sunnydale collapses, the survivors are still fighting the good fight. Now they're joined by a new generation of champions in the making. Suffice to say, Principal Robin Wood will suffer from flashbacks at Beacon Hills High, Dawn Summers will discover she still has a knack for finding trouble, and Faith Lehane will have to face the past in order to have a future.
1. New Job, Same Problem

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ or _Teen Wolf_. Written for fun, not profit.

 **Warnings** : Show-level violence, mention of character deaths, mention of pregnancy complications, mention of underage sexual situations (nothing shown or graphic)

 **Setting** : Setting for Buffy is approximately 10 years post series (and doesn't follow the comics). Setting for Teen Wolf is early season 3 (though spoilers through most the season), canon divergent, and some important parts of season 3 such as a certain Dark Druid will be missing, but I promise my reasoning for that will be brought up.

 **Author's Note** _(I swear there won't be another this long, and you can skip this if you want since the important info is under "setting".)_ : This story started because I realized that I wanted to put together two funny one-shots I wrote for August Fic-A-Day, since they were kind of set in the same 'verse. Well, as usual, I began to brainstorm and my plot bunnies took off in another direction. So, what I intended as a light-hearted comedy decided to get plotty and dramatic. I tamed most of the angst bunnies, thank goodness. I'll admit, when Buffy was on the air, I used to dislike Dawn and Faith, and I really felt boringly neutral about Robin...But post-series, it was as if it became easier to see some of the characters grow, and I wanted to know their stories, which is how they've managed to show up in my stories. At the end of the series (not counting the comics), we saw hints of who they could be, given time and more adventures, love and loss. If they survived. By some miracle, I have these guys surviving a decade after Sunnydale's collapse, only to find themselves here, in Sunnydale Jr., otherwise known as Beacon Hills, where they're interacting with a new group of kids just now facing the things in the dark. Now, as far as this story goes, it's not terribly original, I'm sure. I know several people have done their own version of this meeting of universes, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

* * *

 ** _It Don't Come Easy_**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: New Job, Same Problem**

* * *

"Admittedly, the last person I saw in someone's trunk was a corpse, so..."

Stiles realized he wasn't doing a good job of comforting the woman pressed against him, but then again, the new school librarian didn't seem to be freaking out. In fact, she seemed bored, of all things. He hoped that was due to the dull pounding in his skull, because, seriously, this situation required at least a minor freak-out from all parties involved.

"Yeah, me too," she answered, nonchalantly, and yawned. She actually _yawned_. "And, Mr. Stilinski, would you mind not wiggling around too much. We're kind of working with limited space here."

Stiles froze, realizing he was mid-wiggle, one leg folded behind him, his arm above his head. He wasn't even sure how he'd turned himself into a human pretzel in his attempt to not grind his, _ehem_ , lower region against Ms. Summers' nicely shaped rear end.

Not that he'd been staring at her rear. Because ogling teachers was wrong. And librarians were teachers who didn't teach, so, yeah, wrong and bad, and Stiles cleared this throat, mentally chastising himself into thinking about something less dangerous. Like how he and his librarian were just kidnapped by some deformed mutant dude. As least said-mutant didn't appear to be reptilian. That was a plus.

"Wait, what do you mean 'me too'?" Stiles asked, catching up to her comment.

"Television," she replied, after a beat. "That's what you were talking about, right?"

"Uh, yeah, television... Me too. I mean, obviously, right?" Stiles scrambled for a reference. "That Alfred Hitchcock episode, where the guy stuffs his wife's body in the trunk."

"'One More Mile to Go'. Hey, that's the one I was thinking of too!" She took her voice down a notch, for which Stiles was thankful since his headache didn't appreciated that excited pitch. "By the way, you can call me Dawn," she noted.

"Stiles," he provided. "Have you tried to find the latch? All newer model cars have one. I mean, it feels like we're going pretty fast, so jumping out might not be an option, but if we can open the trunk, we can at least get the drop on the guy when he stops or alert other drivers."

"Bad news," Dawn said with a sigh. "That was kind of the first thing I did. There is no latch. If there _was_ a latch, it's been taken out or covered up. And speaking of covered up, someone has patched over the rear lights. So much for those handy _Lifetime_ movie tips," Dawn chirped.

"You mean someone actually modified this trunk for holding live captives?" Stiles asked. He swallowed hard, hoping the sound wasn't audible.

"Well, when you say it that way, it's a tad worrisome."

"No kidding."

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to calm down. Not that it helped. It was already dark inside the trunk, and the air seemed shallow, too. Was that a thing? His eyes shot open at the thought. Could they actually run out of air if they stayed in here long enough? What if this asshole driving was planning to just park in the middle of nowhere and leave them in here? Maybe mutant guy liked to eat corpses instead of fresh meat... Stile tried to swallow again and failed; if he died, Scott would blame himself, Stiles knew, as Scott always considered everyone's problems his fault. And his dad...Oh, Jesus. _Dad._

"Stiles? Hey, Stiles, you sound like you're freaking out. Don't do that, okay? You'll use up all the oxygen. _Kidding_ , kidding, sorry. Bad me, this is not the time for jokes." Dawn reached around, poking him once in the chest before she found his hand. She gave it a squeeze. "I get that this isn't the best of circumstances, but it's also not the worst. We'll make it out of here."

"Yeah. Sure." Stiles took a shaky breath. She was right. He'd been in worse situations. Sadly. Ones that involved werewolves and crazy people and a kanima. "I'm sorry, it's just...it's hard to explain, but I've kind of been in a similar situation before. Not good memories."

Dawn was quiet a moment. "Being abducted rarely provides funny anecdotes."

The way she said it, Stiles wondered if she knew what she was talking about. But he didn't want to ask her. If he asked her, then she'd ask him, and he didn't want his mind to venture there again.

"So," Stiles cleared his throat, "all I remember is some blurry outline of a dude coming at me in the Reference section, and then me waking up here. I mean, for all I know you could have kidnapped me and planted yourself here. Not that I'm saying you did, but, uh, I guess what I'm asking is, do you have any clue who took us?"

"I followed a strange sound to the back of the library...apparently that strange sound was you getting knocked out. Go figure. But, if that's the case, then there's a good chance that you were the intended victim."

"That's great, just great..." Stiles felt a fresh layer of sweat rise on his brow. He'd kind of guessed as much, seeing as, despite what he'd told her, he'd actually seen a tad more than a blurry outline. Stiles had no clue what the thing was, though, just that it wasn't a human, so it probably wasn't some psycho old hunter planning to beat him up in a basement. He almost would have preferred Gerard.

Dawn let out a short chuckle that sounded oddly grim. "Which is a change of pace for me," she muttered, then raised her voice. "What were you even doing in the library an hour after school let out?"

Stiles snorted. "Google was failing me, and I had to look something up. But I had detention with you first, and then I had to meet up with Coach about the Cross Country meet and...wow, you just completely chose not to answer my question. About the thing that took us?"

"Hey, you accused me of kidnapping you, buddy."

"Yeah but, I mean, I didn't _really_ think you'd actually done it because, hello, you'd have needed to hire a driver too and that's...You did it again! You _just_ did it again. Fine."

Stiles purposely squirmed until he was laying flat on his back, legs pulled up to his stomach, which was only a bit painful. He kicked out, feet hitting the cloth-covered side with a loud thud. "Hey, asshole!" he shouted. "We're awake! Come and get us!"

" _Shh!_ " Dawn hissed. "What the hell are you doing? Also, _hello_? My ear is _right_ there. Could you try not to deafen me?"

The car didn't so much as slow down. Stiles made a face. "I'll shut up if you answer the question you're dodging."

"Does this tactic work often?" Dawn huffed at her own question. "Nevermind. Who am I kidding? I used the 'I'll scream' method on my big sister plenty of times...You know a kid named Greenberg?"

"Sure I do." Stiles' jaw hung open. That mutant freak thing...He knew it had looked oddly familiar. "What the hell happened to him?"

"How would I know?"

"Okay, I might believe you if you didn't sound so not completely freaked out about him looking like a melted wax statue with horns!" Stiles snapped. "Come on, lady, if you're in the know, just tell me you're _in the know._ "

"Fine!" Dawn groaned. "I'm 'in the know'. Are you happy? Your classmate, Greenberg, from what I picked up during his oh-so-typical villain speech while he was forcing me into his trunk, started dosing on demon hormones in order to get an edge in 'lacrosse'. Apparently it's a highly competitive sport around here..."

" _Seriously_?" Then, for good measure, Stiles ran a hand down his face. "Did you just use the words 'demon hormones' in a sentence?"

"Gets better," Dawn said, sounding pleased with herself. "Apparently, he's started turning into some bull-hybrid creature with a craving for flesh. My guess is, it's irreversible. Too bad, I'm sure he had a lovely personality."

"Oh, God, do you think he ate Coach?" Stiles made a face. "Wait, I saw Coach. So, no, unless he eats really fast. But, here's a better question. Why would he come after me? I'm skinny. Like I'm almost entirely bone. I'm not saying any fat kids should die in my place, I'm just questioning the logic here. I'm not the filling choice."

"Well, I didn't want to tell you this, but he was kinda grope-y when he took your cell phone. I think he might have craved your flesh in other ways, you know due to pre-demon hormones."

"Oh, _God!_ Greenberg had a crush on me? Wait. Greenberg was gay? I'm attractive to gay guys? _"_

"Don't worry. I won't let the Minotaur have his way with you," Dawn assured. "Unfortunately for him, he doesn't know who he just kidnapped."

"Did you say, 'Minotaur'? You know what? Nevermind. He knows he just kidnapped the Sheriff's son, so something tells me he's not easily deterred." Stiles sighed loudly. "Okay, so can I ask you one more question?"

"Sure. Doesn't mean I'll answer you."

"Are you a hunter? Because, currently, my only escape plan hinges on you not being a hunter."

"Like a freelancer?" Dawn shifted her weight. "Well, since I somehow doubt you're going to forget this conversation happened, and since you seem to have mad technique when it comes to annoying information out of people, I guess I should let you in on something. I already know."

"Know?"

"About your best friend. Scott McCall. I know he's a werewolf. But don't worry, while I do occasionally hunt down creatures who, you know, crave flesh, I don't go around killing innocent werewolves. So there's no reason for you to be afraid I'm going to go after him."

Stiles wanted to freak out. He really did, but there just wasn't sufficient room. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dawn Summers, librarian, Watcher, part-time badass," she said, pleasantly. "Who happens to be having an off day, and will no doubt be the butt of many bull jokes to come. But back to the topic at hand. We're not going to have to worry about your furry buddy getting involved."

The car was slowing. Stiles concentrated on happy thoughts. Like how nice it was not to be eaten. "Why's that?" he forced out, as the car stilled.

"Because I have an active locator in my locket. After you've been kidnapped enough times, you stay prepared. You're young. You'll learn."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

A loud thud sounded from above them. Whatever had hit the hood was about the size of a bowling ball and must have been shaped similarly, because it rolled down the slope of the trunk and off the car.

"Yes," Dawn answered, before he could ask, "that _was_ a decapitated head. Our rescue party is here."

"Yay?"

"Yay," Dawn confirmed.

Stiles wasn't so sure, but he was still feeling a bit too queazy (thanks to both a mental image of Greenberg's deformed head rolling and what was likely a slight concussion) to fear whoever was about to open the trunk. Something in the lock mechanism popped as the metal was wrenched up. Stiles blinked at the afternoon sunlight, looking down to avoid it, and realized he could see most of Dawn's face from this angle. And she looked surprised.

Which, she shouldn't be, right?

He frowned, his nerves back on high alert, and looked up to see a brunette staring down into the trunk, a lazy smile on her face.

"Hey, Brat. How's it hanging?"

Dawn pushed herself up onto her elbows, shoving Stiles back down when he attempted to do the same. His face tightened into an annoyed grimace, but he managed to stay quiet, for his own curiosity's sake.

"Faith? What are...?" Dawn blinked, as if to get the shocked expression off her face, then frown slightly, as if put-off. "You going to give me a hand or what?"

The other woman, Faith, shook her head, and for a moment, Stiles thought for sure she was going to close the trunk again. Instead she reached in, grabbing Dawn at the elbow before the librarian toppled forward. Stiles heard Dawn's short heels hit the pavement as when she hopped down.

Dawn opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"I think the question you were looking for is, 'What are you doing in Beacon Hills?'"

Faith raised a brow, and somehow the arch on her otherwise laid-back expression made her look a bit more dangerous. Even more dangerous than a woman who, theoretically, had just cut off Greenberg's head. Stiles pushed himself a little further back into the confines of the trunk. Maybe getting out could wait a moment longer.

"Oh, wait," Faith said, her smile tightening into a grimace, "that's my line, D. What _the hell_ do you think you're doing in Beacon Hills?"

* * *

 **3 Days Earlier**

* * *

" _So, how's the new job working for you?"_

Robin balanced one elbow on the edge of his desk, using the hand that wasn't currently holding his cell phone to rub his forehead. A part of him knew he was only revisiting the hurt every time he called Faith, but despite how much he hated how things had ended between them, they had a past. And, frankly, at this point, he didn't have a lot of friends to talk to. It might have been bizarre to others, but chatting out his problems with his ex tended to help him more often than not.

"Well, I've been here less than a week," he reminded.

" _Yeah, feels like longer when you're getting calls from a dozen_ _of girls who miss their Principal."_

"Faith..."

" _I know, I know. You needed to get away. I get that...Sorry. Just want you to know you're missed. Or so I hear."_

Robin smiled into the phone. "I might not be mentoring a team of slayers, but I have a feeling I haven't strayed very far from my old life."

" _Ran into vamps already?"_

"Not a one. But I've been doing some reading on this town. Let's just say I'll probably stay busy here. Especially during the full moon." He shook his head. "I actually found a sword when I was cleaning out the office."

" _Guess you won't be the first principal packin'."_

"But hopefully the first one to do his job over the past year. There's something definitely shady about the resignation and hiring of the last principal. And don't get me started on the staff and faculty...You wouldn't believe how much the school is willing to pay for a night janitor, but there haven't been any takers yet. The locals are too scared to take the job. I hear the Sheriff's department is having a similar problem. Which is probably why my salary is the best it's ever been."

" _You sure you're not on_ _a_ _Hellmouth?"_

"Dawn is looking into it, just to be certain. But I don't think so. There's definitely something going on in this town though...Hey, listen, I have to let you go. I have to have a word with one of the local trouble makers."

" _Set him straight, teach."_

"You know it."

He ended the call just as his secretary was showing the boy into the office. The kid was tall, skinny, and made a big show of staring at the office, as if taking in Robin's fine decorating skills.

The kid popped his lips when he realized he was being watched. "Love what you've done with the place. Homey, but with clean professional lines." He waved his hands at the wall displaying Robin's degree. "And the white walls are very modern. Institutional even."

"Take a seat, Mr. Stilinski," Robin said, biting back a smile when the teenager scrambled to do just that. "I'm Principal Wood. I don't believe we've had the chance to speak yet. Of course, if you were so set on meeting me, you could have just asked instead of leaving a banana pudding in your teacher's chair."

The teenager opened and closed his mouth, but Robin's expression must have cut off his denial. "Everyone calls me Stiles, just for the record."

"Stiles," Robin repeated. He wasn't a big fan of using nicknames for his kids, but he'd seen the boy's first name on his record. 'Stiles' was easier to shout. "It's good to meet you, Stiles. I'd ask you why you wanted to meet the new principal so badly, but I have a feeling you'd just lie, and then it would be awkward for both of us. So I'm to go with the assumption that you wanted to check in and see if I'm as big a sleaze ball as your last principal. I certainly don't think so, but you'll have to use your own judgment."

Stiles' eyes widened slightly, and there was a slight twinkle in his stare, as if he couldn't choose between being amused and being shocked. "Principal Argent? Oh, no, he was just a big fluffy ball of joy, that guy. Will be missed. Totally. By someone, I'm sure. I was just...I was just eager to check out your, umm, credentials."

Robin snorted. "Then you'll be happy to know that I have many years of experience doing this job, and in far stranger towns than Beacon Hills."

"Like the one that became a giant sink hole like ten years ago?"

Robin froze a moment, then relaxed again. Of course. There was always that one kid who enjoyed doing research. "Yes. Like that one. But don't worry, I highly doubt that there are any sink holes in Beacon Hills. Now, if you're done. I believe you owe your Coach a detention. You'll be taking it in the library later this week."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Robin already had his attention back on a stack of paperwork on his desk, and he pretended to not watch Stiles take another long look at the office before disappearing out the door. As soon as he was gone, Robin asked his secretary to hold his calls and shut his office door. Certain he had at least a few moments of freedom, he pulled back the hidden latch he'd found inside the book case. It slid back, revealing a large monitor, the screen divided into square windows, each seemingly attached to cameras placed around most of the school. And even a few that seemed to be placed around the town.

Gerard Argent, it appeared, was very interested in the students here, that or extremely paranoid. Maybe even a pervert. The initial finding was disturbing to the point where Robin had almost called in Mr. Stilinski's father, the local sheriff. Then he started to review some of the older video files, ones Argent had kept for his own purposes, most of them labeled or put under one file as "betas". Ones that showed a few students who were a bit stronger than the average high schooler, who had eyes that flashed when they hit a bright light just right. Robin hadn't had time to look through all of them, and he figured, since he'd already missed the full moon, he probably had time on his side.

But perhaps sooner was better.

Robin sighed, then clicked on the file labeled "STILES" to see what would come up. The fact that the boy had a video file in the first place told him more than he wanted to know. The kid seemed nice, but he had to be up to something. Now it was just a matter of finding out the truth, and figuring out if the last principal had been the hero or the villain.

"New job, same problem..."

* * *

Allison could feel his eyes on her, and not just in that creeping sense of being watched that so often raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She felt his gaze as if it were as warm and pleading as a caress on her cheek. Why did Scott have to look at her like he didn't remember why they weren't together? What she hated most about that stare of his was that she didn't hate it nearly enough.

Nodding along to whatever Stiles was saying, she made a show of looking toward the empty classroom's door, as if to keep an eye on it, despite the fact that a werewolf's senses should be able to catch an intruder faster than her own. If she ignored the problem, maybe it would go away. Maybe she'd even be able to convince herself that there wasn't the tiniest part of her that just wanted to give in to old feelings and sneak away with Scott and pretend they didn't still live in a world where her mother was dead, her mother who tried to kill her boyfriend, her mother whose legacy was tainted so heavily by Gerard that it had almost sent Allison down a path from which she couldn't return.

"Probably something evil. At the very least, supernatural adjacent."

Allison blinked, bringing herself back to the moment at hand and turning to give Stiles a hard stare. "Wait, are we still talking about the new principal?"

Lydia raised her perfectly arched brows, her expression somewhere between amused and annoyed, which seemed to be a constant whenever she was listening to Stiles Stilinski.

"No, _we_ aren't. These two are. _We_ could care less about high school conspiracy theories," she answered, gesturing to Scott and Stiles as if she could shoo them away. She gave the pair a sharp look. "I can't believe you drug us into an abandoned classroom to discuss this, when we have real problems."

Scott scratched the back of his neck, frowning. "They're right, Stiles. Principal Wood has only been working here four days...Just because the guy is new and gives off a weird vibe doesn't mean he's up to something. I'll let Issac and Boyd know they should be cautious around Principal Wood, but, in the meantime, we should be focusing on the Alpha pack."

" _Et tu_ , Scottie?" Stiles snapped. He sighed. "Fine, ignore my excellent research on Mr. Robin Wood and the strange accidents surrounding the very-little-not-blacked-out info I could find on him. You know, the info that wasn't immediately wiped from the internet the moment I located it. Ignore the fact that his last school sank into the earth. It's not like my hunches are ever right." He waved his arms enthusiastically. "Oh. Wait. _Yes they are_!"

Allison bit down a smile. "I doubt if it will help, but I'll ask my dad about him. If he's a hunter or ever encountered any hunters, my dad might know."

Scott's eyes widened slightly. "You think Principal Wood might be a hunter?"

Stiles muttered under his breath, "Actually covered that in my list of possibilities..."

Scott elbowed him. "You also covered 'wizard'."

"I swear I saw ruins etched into the office window frame," Stiles defended. Then deflated when his friends just stared back at him. "I just couldn't get close enough to get a good look at them...Lest I remind you, 'Alpha pack ally' was also on that list. Which would actually be equally as scary as wizard or hunter."

"I still think this is a waste of time," Lydia noted, studying her nails. "Just because an authority figure saw right through you, Stiles, doesn't mean he's something supernatural. And as for his last school, the whole town sank. Mysterious as they are, sinkholes aren't unheard of."

Allison narrowed her eyes at her friend. She didn't have to be a werewolf to notice the way Lydia's voice pitched, as if, beneath her dismissal, she'd come to a different conclusion altogether.

Stiles bit off his initial rebuttal. "So I guess you don't want a copy of the file I've made on him?"

Lydia somehow managed to look pretty while sneering. "Oh, I still want a copy. It always pays to have dirt on your principal, especially when gathering letters of recommendation for college." She turned on her heel, bringing the conversation to an end, and glanced at Allison, something strained in her wide eyes. "Coming?"

Allison nodded, and turned to leave, trying not to notice the way Stiles groaned in frustration and the way Scott instinctively leaned forward as she left, as if he'd almost moved to follow her. Instead she put her focus on the one person she knew she didn't have to leave behind.

"Is everything okay, Lydia?"

Lydia blinked at her. "Perfectly."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you might have your own suspicions about the new principal."

Lydia smirked. "But you do know better."

Allison smiled back at her. "I _know_ that you'd tell me if you knew anything."

"Of course."

" _Lydia._ "

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I couldn't care less about the new principal," she corrected. "I just...while we were in the classroom, I thought I heard something strange. Like a voice in my head when Stiles mentioned that sinkhole, whispering the name of that town, but the voice, it sounded like someone I..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It was nothing. Probably just me remembering the news breaking on television. I was in elementary school, but I can still remember how panicked my parents were, making phone calls to check up on cousins and clients... Sunnydale was all anyone could talk about for months, at least until that extremely disturbing terrorist attack in L.A."

Allison opened her mouth to reply and closed it again when she saw someone over Lydia's shoulder. _No_... She swallowed hard. She didn't see anyone. She thought she did. Just for a second, she thought she saw a woman with long blond hair, a sneer on her face as she watched from afar. It was probably a student, a teacher...anyone else. But for half a second, she was certain she'd seen Aunt Kate.

* * *

Derek stood beside the wide window of his loft, in plain view, arms crossed over his chest as if he were daring an onlooker to make a move. With the Alpha pack on the verge of doing just that, he knew he should be cautious. In fact, he usually was. Standing in front of windows was too careless for him, but he'd been drawn here by too much time and an argument with Cora. The young she-wolf had stormed upstairs to take a shower, leaving him with his thoughts.

Derek didn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts. Or with the ghosts who haunted him.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

The reflection beside his shifted slightly, mimicking his crossed arms. The dead girl rolled her eyes at him, though. "Sorry doesn't help me," Erica said, an edge to her voice.

Derek was quiet a moment longer. He blinked his eyes. She was still there when he opened them. He didn't turn though, almost afraid of what he would find there. Almost afraid that the girl would fade. He didn't want her to. A part of him wanted her to stay, to be a real ghost instead of a figment of his guilt. He needed the reminder of what he'd done.

"I was a sixteen-year-old girl," she reminded him, sounding almost wistful. "Sixteen and full of life, and this beautiful man suddenly shows up and promises me everything I'd never had. You seduced me, Derek Hale. And now I'm dead. I'd be alive if you'd never spoken to me. If you hadn't been so caught up in your new power, your loneliness...I might be learning to drive my mom's car instead of buried in a shallow grave."

Derek stared at the window, past her reflection, to the sunny daylight outside. It felt like it should be raining, cold, but it was a nice day outside. His brow furrowed in anger.

"You're right."

"But it's not you I blame," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You were doing what your instinct told you to do. And for a while, your gift was exactly as advertised. No, I don't blame you for my death...But you're such a disappointment, Derek."

He couldn't argue.

Erica shook her head, as if the frustration was building up inside her, leaving her vibrating. "It really pisses me off, you know. Here I am, dead. Here you are, alive. And you act like you care, you really do, but if you cared so much, why are the Argents still alive?"

Derek blinked again, this time in surprise. "The Argents didn't do this to you."

"They _tortured_ me. They tortured Boyd. They beat Stiles bloody..." She huffed. "But you, what? Were too busy with reptile boy to care about that?"

"Gerard-"

"Screw Gerard," Erica snapped. "He's as good as dead. But what about the rest of them, huh? What about Chris Argent and that bitch Allison? Come on, Derek. Am I supposed to believe you don't see Kate in that girl's eyes, every time you catch a glimpse of her? You know what she's going to become...A monster, like everyone else in her family. But what are you doing about her? Nothing. You're going to sit here and pretend like your main concern is a pack of your own kind, while the real monsters lie in wait to kill off your sad little pack..."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? I'm you, after all. Unless you actually believe I'm me." She cocked her head, false pity in her frown. "Are you that far gone, poor, broken, Derek Hale?"

Derek cupped his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes, hoping to wipe the thoughts away. Some part of him knew what she said was true. Had to be. After all, the words had come out of his own mind. He wanted to laugh. Here he was, arguing with himself, when he should be doing anything else. His chest shook, but no noise left his lips. It wasn't laughter or a sob trying to work its way out. It was rage, barely restrained, and it showed in the flash of his red eyes. He took a deep breath, holding it down.

"Derek?"

He turned, hoping his sister wouldn't understand the anger on his face. He raised a questioning brow, as if nothing had happened.

"Were you talking to yourself?" Cora asked, toweling her hair.

Derek turned back to the window, watching his reflection, looking for another. He didn't find one. "Just sorting out a few things."


	2. This Intermission Brought to You By

**Chapter 2: This Intermission Brought to You by _The One Who Sees_**

* * *

Once upon a time, the castle had been home to an army, a sisterhood bound by purpose and power. A decade had passed, but Xander still saw the place as it once was, in that short period after the Scoobies had reclaimed the property in the name of the reformed Watchers International Council. When they'd thought life would get easier with hundreds of warriors by their sides, sharing the weight of the world. For a while, this base had served as as more than just housing, it had been a school. It had come very close to being a place of hope.

What remained were pillars of stone where walls had stood, a crumbling skeleton of rock and wood. A few rooms were still standing near the previous kitchens, and the groundskeeper's cottage had been rebuilt into living quarters for whoever found themselves on duty. Because this place couldn't be truly abandoned, despite its state of disrepair. The magic of those final wards laid down around her walls, it was still strong. The ground was marked, Will told him once. Xander still didn't know what that meant, only that it made the "bonus storage space, slash sex torture chamber," as Buff had dubbed it, beneath the ground a perfect prison for those enemies who couldn't be held by metal bars and chains alone.

"Meanwhile, in a dungeon in Scotland," Xander muttered as he tromped down the staircase. He slid his fingers over the carved mark on the wall and the dim lighting of the ever-lit torches brighten.

He soaked it in a minute, studying the long, shadowed corridor. It smelled like dirt and rotted blood down here, and the observation forced his lone eye to follow the path to the end of the hallway, the last door. His hand trembled slightly, and he shook off the memory. He wasn't here for that door. He was here for the closest one, actually.

Xander glanced through the barred window on the door, at the form sitting at the center of the small room instead of on the bed behind her. He'd been warned about dealing with their newest resident, but he pricked his thumb on the lock nevertheless, running the droplet of blood over the latch in a series of circular movements. His signature, not that the residents needed to know the password.

The smudge of red absorbed into the door and a mechanism clicked. He pulled the door open.

"I trust you're finding your stay at Azkaban unpleasant?"

Her form shifted slightly and her curtain of dark hair fell away from her face as she looked up, her pretty features catching the meager yellow light. "Funny." Her grin was overly sweet, a disguise, just like the rest of her mask. " _And_ cute. We have to stop meeting like this."

Xander sat down on the floor in front of her, groaning slightly at the pinch in his bad knee, and plopped down the brown paper sack between them. "Is this the part where I ask, 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a dank torture chamber like this?'" He dug unto the bag, pulling free a sandwich and pushing another her way. "Because I already know the answer to that question. Oh, and there's fried apple pie in the bottom of the bag, so save room."

She chewed her turkey-on-wheat slowly, watching the man across from her. "Do you honestly think these little chats of ours are going to make me open up to you? Tell you all my 'evil' plans?"

Xander shrugged, talking around a large bite of ham and cheese. "We could start with your lengthy backstory. Most super villains adore their lengthy backstories. Not that you think you're a villain at all."

Her gaze darkened slightly. "I killed one person in self-defense. That hardly makes me Lex Luthor."

"Sure. And that one person happened to be a coven elder who was trying to stop you when she found out what you were planning. You would have gotten away with it, too. Gotten on a plane back to the States and found a new teaching job. _If_ it hadn't been for us meddling do-goers," Xander corrected. "And a distracting DC reference might earn you brownie points but it won't make me forget that you planned to kill a dozen more people using old blood magic that required, of all the freakish things, virgin sacrifices. Seriously, who does virgin sacrifices anymore? But that doesn't count, right? Because you had a good reason?"

"Only three of them had to be virgins," she said, quietly. Her eyes didn't leave him.

Xander kept his voice light, conversational, but his shoulders stiffened slightly. "And I'm sure you were going to find three sexually deprived death row inmates to off."

"Teenagers, innocent ones," she assured, an edge of sadness in her tone. "That's what makes them sacrifices, Xander. True power comes from _real_ sacrifice. It's not a real sacrifice if you kill someone who's already dying or someone you already wanted to kill."

"Thanks for clarifying. Finish your sandwich, Jennifer."

She cocked her head in thought. "I thought you wanted to hear my story, but you don't even know my real name, do you?"

Xander ran a napkin over his mouth. "I don't need to know your name. I know who you've been _pretending_ to be for, oh, the last five years or so. Jennifer Blake. English teacher. Recently on vacation in London, according to various social media sites. It's a good mask, hides all that dark druid messiness."

Jennifer leaned forward, her smooth skin slipping away in a flash, leaving behind thick, scarred flesh where her pretty features should be. The absent lips and missing skin over her jaw left her expression frozen in a horrific scowl. She hissed at Xander, a trail of spittle spilling over her chin.

"Would you prefer me without it?" she asked, her voice hard, distorted.

Xander blinked, taking another bite of his sandwich. She leaned back again, her glamour falling into place. Pretty Jennifer Blake was back. The two were silent a moment.

Xander finally shrugged. "I almost married a vengeance demon. You should have seen _her_ when she was angry. It's funny. All these wards holding back your magic, and you still manage to waste what little strength you can muster on showing me Jennifer Blake's face. I think that says more about who you are than a name ever could."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. You just told me why you were going to murder a bunch of innocent people." Xander pushed himself back up to his feet, staring down at her. "What happened to you...you're not over it, never will be. Yours is a revenge tale."

"You're leaving?"

"I know a thing or two about vengeance. Me staying isn't going to quench that thirst for blood you have," Xander said, with a shrug. "See you at breakfast."

Jennifer shook her head, a small, bitter grin on her face. "Wait." She hesitated, as if re-thinking the request, then slowly looked up through her long lashes. "Do you know what a beacon is?"

"As in, 'Light the beacon, Pippin'?"

"Do you understand its purpose?" Jennifer asked.

"A warning."

"Yes. Sometimes, and other times it's a guide."

"A guide to what?"

"It's not about 'what'. It's about _who_."

"Huh. This whole overly-vague-mysterious-mystic thing is kind of overdone. Cliche even. So how about you tell me what this Q&A is really about."

"What's the fun in that? Let me out, and I'll show you."

"Not happening. But you already know that much. So, I'm guessing, whatever you're doing right now with the hint-dropping, you're doing it because it brings you one step closer to your goals. If you just wanted us to hunt down the asshole who hurt you, you'd just drop a name, but nope, gotta do it your way, right? So this is the part where you leave me curious in hopes that I'll fold to your will and give you that opening you need. Maybe you'll even tell me that lives are at risk and only you can help me save them? Yeah, this song and dance? I'm well rehearsed." Xander clapped his hands once in a dismissal. "We're done here."

"Xander, wait!"

He heard her calls as he locked the door behind him, stomping up the stairs out of the dungeon. Let her think that hadn't worked. Xander sighed to himself when he made it up into the ruins. It _had_ worked, though, to some degree. Because it had made him _remember_.

He pulled his cell phone free, thankful to the magically-enabled friends in his life for the strong signal bars, and dialed a number. He thought for sure it would go straight to voicemail, but she answered on the second ring.

" _How's my favorite rogue pirate?"_

The greeting was one of her usuals, but Xander noted the overly-cheerful tone. She was a trying too hard. Which mean she was up to something. Which, really, wasn't that business as usual?

"Oh, you know, raiding castles, chattin' up wenches. Say, Dawnie, do you happen to remember the name of that town Robin was relocating to for his 'Sabbatical'?"

Dawn was quiet a moment before humming an affirmative. " _I think Robin's referring to it as 'retirement' actually. Beacon Hills, California. Why? Planning to send him a fruit basket?"_

Xander pinched the bridge of his nose, his finger tapping the band of his eye patch before he nodded to himself. Of course. Of course that had been the hint. "Oh, I don't know. Wouldn't it just be easier to have you deliver it? Since you're headed that way and all."

" _How'd you -?"_

"Well, when you left here a week ago, I knew the man in the mirror had sent you on an assignment. But I didn't realize where you were headed until about five minutes ago. Do you really think I quit keeping tabs on you just because we broke up, moved to different countries, then awkwardly attempted to be roommates?"

" _Stalker much?"_ But she chuckled lightly. " _Have you told anyone where I am?"_

"Like who? Buff and Will are on their quest in China and not due back for...well, it's a long quest, as are most the ones involving Monkey Kings. So, what kind of trouble is young Ms. Summers planning to get into while the rest of the Justice League is off-world?"

" _What about Faith? Talked to her lately?"_

Xander raised a brow. "I didn't tell Faith. Why? You could have asked about anyone else. Why Faith?"

" _No reason."_

"Dawn."

" _I'm just...trying to keep her out of this loop for a bit, okay? I have reasons. Good ones. Listen. I have a job to do. It's not an end-of-the-world job. Nothing to concern yourself with, okay? I'll call if I need back-up."_

"Dawn, you know I can't leave this place unprotected. Why the hell would you take a job right now? And does this have anything to do with a certain Dark Druid you interviewed before you left?"

" _Xander. Seriously. It's nothing. Just stay on duty, and let me do the same."_

Xander sighed. "Robin isn't getting to retire, is he?"

" _He's the one who took a job as a high school principal in small-town California."_

"What was the guy even thinking? Fine. I'll lay off. But be careful, Dawn. Shannon is dealing with that vamp orgy in Washington, so call her if you find anyone in need of slaying...and remember rule one."

She hung up without a goodbye, as had become their ritual over the years, especially since the unspeakable incident in Brazil. Goodbyes were for people who meant it.

Xander stared down at his phone a moment before searching his contacts. He hesitated, finger hovering over the name: FAITH. Considering their ups and downs and, well, in some cases, sideways-es, a phone call was maybe not the best choice, but he sure as hell knew a text message would be even more suspicious. Growling to himself, he slid the phone back into his pocket. He'd make the call. When he needed to, but for now he needed to give Dawn the benefit of the doubt.

He glared at the castle ruins as if they'd personally offended him. "Well, Jennifer, looks like we're due for another lunch date tomorrow."


	3. As Sure as the Dawn

**Chapter 3: As Sure as the Dawn**

* * *

Allison dug in her purse, looking for her pen, frustration building with every second. She knew for a fact that she'd packed two new ones just yesterday. How had she already managed to lose them? Sighing, she paused in her search, but didn't look up, refusing to ask Scott for a replacement or take part in the tension between Lydia and Stiles. The two had been bickering all day, in part because Stiles had commented that Lydia didn't look as if she'd been sleeping well. And, Lydia, being Lydia, had taken great offense. Allison was almost certain the two were _actually_ still fighting over their conversation the previous day about the new principal. Allison would have found it funny, in a different context.

Instead of laughing, though, she was burying herself in her purse, avoiding her friends.

A hush fell over the class, and Allison wanted to curse under her breath. Of course, the one day the new English teacher was actually on time...

" ' _Yet each man kills the thing he loves_ '," her teacher began, breaking the quiet.

" ' _By each let this be heard  
Some do it with a bitter look  
Some with a flattering word  
The coward does it with a kiss  
The brave man with a sword_'"

Allison smiled in triumph when her fingers wrapped around a thin metal cylinder at the bottom of the bag. When she pulled it free, the expression slipped off her face. It wasn't a pen; it was the broken shaft of an arrow, its tail missing but its metal tip still attached and covered in old blood. Her hand trembled.

"Are you paying attention, Allison?"

Allison's eyes shot up in panic, and they stayed wide and frightened, long after the arrow dropped from her hand. Her mother looked lovely, that was her first thought. Her mother was still beautiful, her red hair styled fashionably, her eyes glinting, her cheeks rosy. She was wearing a navy skirt and the peach-colored sweater Allison had picked out for her last Spring, and sitting on the edge of the teacher's desk as if she'd always been there. And she was _alive_.

Allison wanted to speak, but the words stayed put, cutting off her airway.

"Allison," her mother said, "could you tell the class what Wilde meant when he said 'each wolf kills the thing he loves'?" She cocked her head, smirking. "Does he do it with a kiss? A sword? No...I'd wager he uses his _teeth_. Wouldn't you?"

Tiny crimson stains blossomed on the peach sweater, growing larger by the second until blood was welling up in great tears that flowed over the fabric and splattered on the floor.

Allison felt a hand wrap around her wrist. Startled, she blinked, and her mother was gone. The front desk was empty, the classroom still full of the muffled chatter of unattended students. She barely registered the pen rolling on the floor at her shoes or Lydia's hand still on hers.

"Allison?"

That was Scott's voice. It was too much. She pulled away from Lydia and slid out of her desk in a rush. She pushed past her teacher on her way out the door. If anyone commented, she didn't hear it. The bell rang before she even stepped into the emptying corridor, but she barely heard it over the thud of her own heartbeat.

Somehow the air felt clearer here. She could breath. She leaned against a row of lockers a moment, calming down, then groaned to herself. Not even a week into school, and she was tardy. No, she mentally corrected, she was _absent_ , because there was no way she was walking back into that room today.

"Scott," she whispered, knowing he'd hear her, "tell Lydia I'm fine. I just...I just wasn't feeling well. I'm going to spend the period in the library, okay? Don't come looking for me."

Allison's knuckles were white against the strap of her bag as she walked down the hallway. It had been a day dream. A hallucination. A manifestation of guilt. She knew as much, but every corner she turned, she expected to find a real threat. Instead, she found boxes. Hyper awareness was all that kept her from tumbling over a small wooden crate blocking her path into the library.

"Oh, sorry!"

The apology appeared to come from a stack of cardboard boxes. A woman stepped out from behind them, attempting to juggle a laptop case and a small wooden crate. She smiled brightly at Allison, something infectious in her grin, and the girl returned a dimpled one of her own.

"I swear, this was supposed to be moved before classes started today. Well, I mean, I don't swear, here at least, because, hello, faculty and all." The woman paused, balancing the crate on her hip long enough to give a short wave. "Hi. New librarian who talks too much here."

"Ms. Summers, right? Need a hand?" Allison asked.

The woman made a face. "Aren't you late for class?"

Allison opened and closed her mouth.

Ms. Summers snorted, amused. "Save the excuse. I know a ditch when I see one. Here's the deal. My helper was called away to clean up freshman vomit, so, if you help me move these boxes, I'll write an excuse for the office." She frowned slightly. "Wait...librarians are allowed to do that, right? Sure...why not? And it's not like Principal Wood would say no to me. I know all his secrets."

Allison raised a brow, but Ms. Summers only shrugged. "Chop, chop," the woman urged, backing through the library doors.

Allison stood in place a moment longer, wrapping her mind around what had just transpired, then bent down to pick up a hefty box and follow the librarian inside. Ms. Summers had already disappeared into the private office behind the counter. She popped her head out, her long, light brown ponytail hanging over her shoulder.

"Put them on the lower counter, please. We can unpack them there," she instructed, disappearing again.

Allison hesitated a moment before stepping behind the check-out area and putting the box down. She tugged at the tucked-in folds of the cardboard box until it popped open but was unsure if Ms. Summers wanted her to start pulling items out. Before she could think too much about it, she found herself distracted by the book sitting on top. It looked like it was probably the heaviest item inside, at least four inches thick, leather, and beautifully detailed. Emblazed across the face was the title, _VAMPYR_.

Allison took a step back, nearly jumping when she felt a presence at her shoulder. Ms. Summers was smiling softly. "Figures you'd find that old thing," she said. "My mistake. Those items go in my office, not out here." But the woman sounded as if she wanted to laugh. "I'll get this one if you'll bring in the rest from the hallway."

Allison didn't get the joke.

"Vampyr?" Allison asked.

"Oh!" Ms. Summers' eyes widened slightly, as if she'd just remembered something. "I suppose I should let you know I'm a mythology major, too. I like to keep my favorite texts with me when I travel. You're welcome to look through my private collection any time you'd like, though."

"Uh, thanks?"

Ms. Summers chuckled before shooing her back to the hallway. Allison dumped her own bag on a study table and decided to embrace the challenge, carrying the heavy boxes in one at a time. Ms. Summers joined her after a few minutes, humming happily as she worked when she wasn't making comments about the dire state of her office. Allison bit down a laugh; this had to be the loudest librarian she'd ever met. The task was over quickly enough, the stack of boxes on the counter not looking nearly so large as they'd appeared scattered in the hallway. Allison took a moment to look out at the library. Other than a teacher who was tutting to himself in the reference section, they were otherwise alone this early in the day. She pulled her cell free and typed in a text message.

"What's next, Ms. Summers?" Allison asked, quickly hiding her phone away when she noticed eyes were on her.

The woman sighed to herself, and Allison had a feeling she enjoyed the light-hearted dramatics. "Well, other than the office being a total wasteland and in need of, well, everything...I have some materials I need to log into the system, some cleaning to do, posters to hang and posters to take down (since LOLcats have eliminated the need for Bad Hair Day Cat), and I'm not sure anyone actually cleaned this place over the summer...Really, the list of what-not-to-do is shorter: don't put up that stack of books on the cart because I'm saving it for this kid who has detention this afternoon. My first victim."

Allison bit her lip to stop herself from commenting that she'd just texted that very 'kid'. "So, office before stacks?" she said, instead.

Ms. Summers snapped her fingers in agreement. "Yes. Because I need to prepare my hide-out for its intended use before the other library helper, old Mrs. Brackett who stores her ugly sweaters with the abandoned microfiche, comes back with all her questions about my life choices. Good thinking, Allison."

Allison's brow furrowed. Had she actually told the librarian her name? She couldn't remember introductions going quite so smoothly.

"You know," Ms. Summers began, giving the boxes a look-over, "being new, I don't have a soul signed up to work as a student library aid. You don't happen to have a free period do you?"

"Well, I－"

"Awesome!" The librarian clapped her hands once, then, seeming to realize where she was, she quieted down. "That's great. I'll inform the office. However, there is one stipulation. If you're going to work in the library, you'll have to call me Dawn. Deal?"

Allison blinked, unsure of how she'd found herself volunteering to work in the library. She replayed the conversation in her head. Nope, she really hadn't agreed to that... She gave the line of study tables a look. The kanima attack here didn't exactly provide the best memories, but there were worse places to be stuck, and she could probably get some studying done during the hour.

"Deal," Allison finally replied.

* * *

The thick, musty scent of earth surrounded him and in that moment he was there, back in his shallow grave. He woke with a start, gasping into the dirt before lifting his head and realizing he wasn't inside the grave, but laying on one. Peter scrambled up, tripping backward as his foot caught the edge of a footstone and he found himself on his backside, staring up at the midday sun. He blinked up at it, disoriented. The last thing he remembered was paying an unwelcome visit to Cora and Derek, furious when he left.

"Why do you look so surprised?"

That voice. His heart thudded at a deafening speed as he recognized that voice.

She stepped into view, still in her jeans and jacket, like she had been that night, but she didn't so much as look his way as she spoke. Her long brown hair covered most of her face, and he didn't want her to turn. He desperately wanted to never see her face again.

"The dead always return here, especially the ones who don't have graves of their own. You're just another one of us wandering spirits, Uncle Peter."

Peter wanted to push himself up, to run, but he couldn't. He steadied his voice and it came out hard. "You're not real," he said, sounding almost annoyed. "You're dead."

"So are you," she reminded, happily. "But we're both very _real_. Even if I only exist inside your head, I'm still real, aren't I? I'm a part of you...That's what happens when you take an Alpha's spark with force. That piece of them stays with you forever...You should have read the small print." She paused beside a gravestone, her head cocked as if she were reading it. "Don't you feel me with you, Uncle Peter? Every day, don't you feel me, don't you hear me screaming inside you, don't you taste my blood on your lips every time you eat the food of the living? You can't hide these things from yourself."

Peter's whole body trembled at the thought. Even though it was a warm summer day, he felt chilled to the bone. Laura...he regretted what had happened to Laura. He could reason with himself, explain away his actions, tell himself it was her own fault for abandoning him. But he still regretted it, feared her, that very part of her she just described－that betraying spark of power. But this...this wasn't Laura.

"How did you get me here?" Peter asked, honestly curious.

She chuckled. The laugh struck at something inside him, a longing he'd cast aside. He'd forgotten that Laura's laugh sounded just like Talia's. When he and his sister had been children, before pack rank changed them, it used to be so easy for him to make her laugh.

"I've already told you," she said. "You came on your own. This is where the dead _want_ to be. Don't you want to be at rest, Uncle Peter?"

He scrambled up to his feet, a snarl on his face. The niggling guilt in his stomach disappeared, replaced by hot rage. "I don't know what you are, but I _will_ kill you for - "

In the space of a blink, she was there, in front of him, her face inches from his. "I'm the niece you killed," she said, softly, almost kindly. "Silly Uncle, I'm the one you murdered."

"No." He swallowed hard on the word. "This is a trick."

"You've told them all you're 'better', but are you really? Are you really in control?" She smiled. "I think we know the real answer to that, don't we? How could you possibly be stable when you never finished what you set out to do?"

"What I set out to do?"

"Kill them. The hunters. _All_ of them."

* * *

When she was a teenager, Dawn never imagined she would turn into Giles, but some people just followed in their father-figure's footsteps, despite all intentions. Dawn didn't mind. There were worse paths to choose.

Dawn leaned against the wall, one arm crossed over her waist, watching the tikes walk-don't-run past. Okay, maybe "tikes" was pushing it, considering it was a high school and she'd barely crossed the mid-twenties line herself, but she _felt_ older than her years, watching these teens laugh and joke and nosedive into a sea of hormones. It occurred to Dawn that this had to be what Buffy had felt like, right after the fall of Sunnydale, when they were gathering the slayers, schooling them, giving them a place to belong, and Buffy was watching over them, assuring them there was hope to be found, mixed in with all their fears and doubts. Lying to them when she said it was going to be okay.

It wasn't okay. Not for all of them. Not for most of them.

Dawn forced her frown away, smiling at a passing student who nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to return the greeting. She reminded herself that it was different for these kids. They were, the majority of them at least, normal. And they weren't at war with beings that were trying to wipe them out. They wouldn't find themselves decimated, their numbers trimmed to a measly hundred within a decade's time...

"No touchy feely," she reminded a couple.

This. This was good. Hall duty was nice and boring. Dawn told herself she should be enjoying the break. She'd done this before, a few years back, put on her Giles pants and ignored her doctorate to take on a high school librarian job to infiltrate a school filled with teachers who were slowly draining the life force from their students. Business as usual. That time, though, she'd had slayers in the classroom, the Council at her call, and it had required less lying to the people she still cared about.

"Ms. Summers."

Dawn looked up, a shit-eating grin on her face when confronted with Robin's severe expression. So, he was still annoyed with her for, well, existing.

"My office, please," he said, then turned without a second glance, heading back through the scattering crowd.

Dawn followed, smile still on her face when she slipped into his office behind him, shutting the door. "Your secretary is totally going to talk if we keep this up," she noted. "But then, sexy gossip is the best gossip."

Robin sighed. "I'm going to assume you haven't changed your mind about leaving."

"Oh, please." Dawn rolled her eyes. "If you honestly thought I might leave, you would haven't have sent me that file of 'troubled students'."

The man's cheek twitched, as if he were biting down a small smile. "I sent that file so that there wouldn't be any messy mistakes made if any of the girls followed you into town. By the way, we're free to talk in here."

"Willow's basic noise distortion ward?"

Robin tilted his head toward the door. "Activates when that door closes. Useful when there are students with advanced hearing in the hallways. Since you brought up the file...any thoughts?"

Dawn's brow furrowed. "Well, there are probably even more kids involved in the supernatural than you have on that list, but it's pretty impressive... You really got all that information through videos and files the previous principal left behind?"

"I don't think he left it willingly." Robin sat down behind his desk, leaning back. "In fact, the man seems to have just disappeared, but his family hasn't reported him missing. Frankly, the more I found out about his history, the less interested I am in finding him. Turns our Principal Argent was a hunter of the worse kind. Had a bad reputation for using any means to get his way."

"Argent?" Dawn asked.

"You recognize the name? I didn't at first...until I discovered his unusual past time and remembered the famed 'Silver' family from that debacle in France a few years ago. Their specialty is werewolves." Robin's gaze narrowed. Dawn thought she saw suspicion on his face, but it was gone a moment later. "From what I can gather, this town was a base for the hunters once. Two of them still live here."

"One of them roaming the halls," Dawn noted. "You picked a swell place for a vacation from the supernatural, Robin."

Robin glared at her. "Is that why you're here? To get me to leave?"

"Because you lied to people who care about you and said you needed downtime, when you were really called out here by an old friend to meddle with an outdated treaty?" Dawn asked. She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"That's not fair." Robin didn't sound overly concerned about it. "Does the rest of the council know?"

"About the meddling? Nope." Dawn took a breath and considered bringing up Xander's phone call. "They'll be suspicious once they realize I've relocated to lovely Beacon Hills as well. But, hey, I'm not here to play in your sandbox, so you keep your mysterious motivations, and I'll keep mine."

"For your information, I'm staying out of this as much as possible. I'm here to observe unless action becomes necessary."

"Action that's against the treaty..." Dawn reminded.

"The treaty, what's left of it, concerns the Council. The _old_ Council. Not ours. And I'm not officially with the Council. I'm on leave, remember?"

Dawn winked at him. "Way to avoid a war, smarty pants. Well, if that's all for the moment, I've actually got work to do. Librarians are like toys; they do all their moving around when no one is watching."

Robin stopped her before she could open the door. "There is one thing I need to know, since you won't tell me what you're actually doing here. Are the kids in danger?"

Dawn huffed out an unamused laugh. "You know, once upon a time, you might have asked if the kids 'are' a danger. I'm glad you've changed, Robin...Right now, you know what I know about them. I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

She slipped out the door before he could ask another question and nearly ran straight into Scott McCall, who was standing at the secretary's desk, trying to get the woman's attention.

"My teacher said Principal Wood wanted to speak with me?"

Dawn snorted to herself, drawing the teenager's confused gaze. The teen probably didn't even know who she was, but she certainly recognized him. According to the files, he was the big wolf on campus. Dawn almost burst a lung holding in that joke. She waved off his puppy-dog stare and walked out of the office before she said something regrettable.

"So much for staying out of it, Robin," she muttered to herself, wondering what excuse Robin had for forcing a meeting with the kid. Thankfully, Allison Argent had been kind enough to just show up at the right time. It made her life easier.

Which, that reminded her...she had a detention with someone who she'd bet was a master of wrong-time wrong-place, a Mr. Stilinski.


	4. Greenberg Fails at Life

**Chapter : Greenberg Fails at Life, a Side Story**

* * *

Hunger. It consumed his thoughts.

He'd always been a hungry boy, even as a child, sneaking candy bars from a stash under his bed. But he had never experienced _real_ hungry, that gnawing beast scraping at his insides, demanding his attention. These days, though, hunger was all he could concentrate on. His perfect attendance, perfect grades, had slipped away as the new school year started, all of that drive transforming into an altogether different kind of animal.

This wasn't what the guy at the club had told him, the one he'd given him his little _fix._

Being better, making first line, being noticed...that's all he'd really wanted. Now, he didn't care that he wasn't going to get what his dealer had promised. Hunger was everything. Hunger erased disappointment and pinpointed his purpose.

He leaned forward across his desk, closing his eyes, his nostrils wide as he took in the scent of the boy in front of him. He'd spent a whole semester counting the moles on the back of Stilinski's neck last year but had never been brave enough to reach out and take what he craved. This year would be different.

He reached out, his fingers inches away from soft skin...And Stiles pulled away, pushing himself away from his desk in that quick, clumsy manner of his, chatting all the while to Scott McCall.

Another opportunity missed. But it was for the best. He wanted to savor that moment, make it last...but right now the hunger was too strong, too eager to allow him any form of patience. His stomach growled in anticipation, warning him that the change was coming. He had just enough time to pick up a quick bite to eat.

* * *

"Leadership skills?" Stiles blinked rapidly, and Scott could see his friend's annoyance rapidly building. "He just randomly called you to his office to discuss your potential 'leadership skills'?"

Scott shrugged and held up a pamphlet on student government. "Leadership skills," he confirmed, lamely. He considered mentioning the odd, hesitant vibe the principal had been giving off, as if the man had been hedging around another subject instead of lying directly, but after one look at Stiles, Scott had decided to hold off on that tidbit. Especially since Scott had honestly liked the man. Sure, he'd agree with Stiles on the whole 'mysterious' part, but Scott had a good feeling about Principal Wood. "Apparently, he thinks I'm not using all of my potential."

Stiles snatched the paper out of Scott's hand, glaring at its pages as he settled against the wall of the stairwell and let his book bag drop onto the steps beside him. He opened and closed the fold of paper, holding it in front of his eyes and squinting at the crease.

"I don't see any secret messages," Stiles muttered, sounding disappointed. Shoving the pamphlet back, he gave Scott a thorough once-over. "And, he didn't try to convince you to 'do' anything, right? Like anything you didn't want to do? Did he offer you anything to eat or drink? Give you anything else? A new pen or student ID?"

Scott's eyes widened slightly. He hoped the other students walking past them didn't hear that line of questioning. "Uh, no?"

Stiles shook his head. "So, he really just wants you to join his Inquisitorial Squad, then? You, out of the hundreds of students here, are just called up because you're prime class president material-which, by the way, Lydia will stab you in the eye if you pursue this venture. I don't buy it. Not for a second. This is fishy. It smells of fish. At the very least, it's faintly briny, and I don't like it."

Scott sighed, somewhat fondly, and decided to change the subject. "I wonder why Harris wasn't in class."

"Because of the power of prayer? Seriously, that asshat can miss as many classes as he'd like, as far as I'm concerned."

"He's never missed."

"He would waterboard me, if it were legal," Stiles noted. "I maintain that he's an asshat. Maybe he was arrested for practicing asshat-ery."

Scott chuckled. "Hey, you've got detention in the library next, right?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "And you're wanting to know if I'll pass on a message to Allison if she's in there? Because you are, in fact, a were-chicken?"

"No, actually, to both...I just...I might cut out early, so I was wondering if you'd let Coach know why I - "

"Scott." Stiles reached out, holding tight to Scott's arm and leveling his eyes on him. "You've been trying to keep me distracted all day, even indulging my crazy Principal Wood theories, just so you wouldn't have to talk about whatever you've got planned. I'm your best friend, man. I notice these things. Your mind is elsewhere, and I'm kind of terrified I know what you're thinking of doing."

Scott could feel eyes on him. He looked over his shoulder, noticing one of the Alpha twins grinning slyly in his direction before turning his attention back to Danny. Scott felt his resolve settle in his chest like a lead weight.

"Somebody has to try, Stiles."

Stiles grimaced. "Why does it have to be you?" He ran a hand down his face, as if exhausted. "Can you just _not_? At least until you hear from me after school? Allison said the new librarian has some interesting books on folk lore and mythology. Maybe I can sneak away to look through some of them. Find something, anything that'll give you an edge."

"I'm not planning to fight."

"Yeah, well. Just give me until after school, okay? A few hours before you do anything. Okay?"

"Okay." The lie slipped out without much thought. Scott knew that a few hours of research would lead to a few days of gathering materials for 'an edge' that probably didn't exist. He didn't have that sort of time, not if he wanted to talk sense into Deucalion before Derek made a move. "Okay. I'll wait for your call."

Stiles let out a sigh of relief, his heartbeat steadying out, and Scott tried to hide his wince. He hated doing this. Stiles was always by his side, but he couldn't risk his best friend, not this time. Maybe Stiles, Derek, maybe they were all right, and this was a stupid move, but it was one he had to make.

* * *

The midafternoon sunlight cut lines through the murky glass and plastic of the enclosure. Robin surveyed it with a frown. It was the remains of an outdated greenhouse, which had long since been boarded along its exterior and re-purposed into a storage facility for the newer, remodeled greenhouse, a pet project from a few years past to help with the school's health-conscious image. From what he understood, the school board had planned to tear down the old 'shed' over the summer to give the garden extra space, or for faculty parking a few naysayers had reported, but the school had suffered from one too many remodeling projects in that short space of time, and the demolition was delayed

Robin sighed, bending down to pick up a cigarette butt tucked into the wooden frame, hidden away for later. So, this was one of the spots he'd have to watch, and, ironically, there wasn't an Argent camera in sight.

A shadow fell over him, and he hummed to himself. "Students are never as sneaky as they think they are," he noted, flicking the garbage into the bushes.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at the secrets these children keep. But I'm fairly certain that contraband belongs to the wood working teacher, Mr. Kneely."

Robin smiled at the sound of the voice, then glanced up at the woman. Dark featured, lively eyed, smooth skinned as the teenagers she counseled, Ms. Marin Morrell was a lovely sight, but neither Robin's gaze nor his polite grin lingered long.

"Surely you didn't ask me here to dish on other teachers," Robin replied, and immediately winced. He'd spent far too many years in closed quarters with teenage girls.

Marin only gestured for him to step out of her way. He opened his mouth to comment on her lack of keys when she reached for the door's heavy lock, but she pinched the screw holding the metal loop in place and pulled it gently. It slid free from the warped hole, obviously having been pried open in the past, and both the lock and metal bar holding it to the door clanged against the frame as they fell.

"That was easy. A fact I'm sure most the student body is already aware of," he said, following her inside. The detritus kept him in the doorframe, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light filtering in from the mildewed panels of glass above them. He caught her elbow before she'd taken more than a step. "Marin, we could have talked in my office."

She gave his hand a stern look and he released her. "I believe you've made it clear that you're not a fan of discourse, despite the fact that you came when called. You send very mixed signals, Robin. But we're not here to talk right now. We're here to _look._ I've been told the air around this building smells of blood."

Robin took in a deep breath on instinct and could smell it, too, that distinct, heavy metal scent hanging in the air. It wasn't very strong, though, nothing a human could pick up from outside. The discovery left him reprocessing the low hum of insects coming from the shadows. Flies. "Let me guess. One of your wolves tipped you off?"

Marin's smile was tight. "Ah. You've been made aware then."

"That you're currently an emmisary to a blood thirsty group of Alphas cutting their way across the state? I'm aware. It's somewhat hard to miss those rumors." Robin shook his head, jaw tight. "How did it get this far? The treaty doesn't-"

"The treaty," Marin interrupted, sighing. "Most of the parties who created the treaty are dead. Those who aren't have fallen away from their ideals. Hunters and werewolves alike once feared the Council's interference. Without it, they have taken it upon themselves to rewrite the rules that once kept them at peace. Your _New_ Council has taken the role of the old for granted for far too long, and this whole territory has suffered in their absence..."

She trailed off, her eyes on the floor. Robin stepped around her, edging past a long table covered by a pile of fencing rails. He could see what had caught her attention now. Even surrounded by scrap metal and plastic pipes, the shape was distinctive: a femur bone, still yellowed with blood and not entirely clean of sinew. Human, Robin was sure, because wasn't that how it always was? And once he noticed the first, he began to see more of them. Smaller bones, bits and pieces scattered about. There, in the corner, he'd mistaken a chunk of hairy scalp for a dead mouse upon first glance.

Marin nodded past it to a pile of clothes, or what was once clothes. Even laying in the shadow of a work table, they appeared to be torn to rags and sopping with dark liquid. "It looks like something was in need of a snack." She crouched down, not touching the remains. "This is fresh. Very."

Robin grimaced when he heard a crunch beneath his shoe. He glanced down. A watch's face stared up at him, the glass shattered. "Recognize it?" he asked.

The pinched look on Marin's face was answer enough. "Adrian Harris wears it religiously. He enjoys tapping on it during faculty meetings."

Robin raised a brow. "The chemistry teacher. We've been trying to contact him in the office. He's missed his last two classes today."

"He had a good excuse," Marin replied. "This wasn't the work of werewolves. They don't...devour."

"I'm aware of that," Robin said. He ran a hand over his slick head, considering his options. All of them ended with clean-up being a pain in the ass. "So much for not interfering."

Marin stepped past him, back toward the shed door. "Retirement just isn't what it used to be, is it?"

* * *

Panicking, Stiles dropped to the floor beside the stack of books, realizing a second too late that the sound hadn't been the new librarian but the vibration of his phone against wood. He reached up blindly, grabbing it off the top shelf, and swore under his breath when he saw the message was from Allison.

' _Can't. Something came up. Talk later.'_

Which was her short reply to his proposal that she meet him in the library and sweet-talk Ms. Summers into letting him see her private collection of mythology texts. Stiles was certain Allison would stand a much better chance at getting permission than him, since she'd already become a librarian's pet while he...well, she'd had him dust. Everything. Granted, it was detention, but still... And she'd talked. God, had she talked, like the whole time he was there, and, yeah, she'd been fun, but oddly scary when they somehow ventured into the subject of the Spanish Inquisition.

Now that he was rethinking the conversation, he was suddenly aware of how he might sound to other people, with his somewhat morbid fascinations. He smiled to himself, certain he needed to speak to the new librarian again, when he wasn't planning to actually break into her office.

It wasn't the best plan, he was aware, but it was a fairly harmless one. The first step of which was to hide his presence until Ms. Summers left for the day. So far, so good. He'd left after detention to run a few errands around campus before sneaking back into the library and hiding in the stacks. But she was still there, almost an hour later, singing off-key to herself as she made a paper-clip necklace while looking up something on her laptop and drinking coffee. Well, actually, there didn't seem to be much drinking of said-coffee, just stirring it and adding crap to it. And he could have sworn the steam lifting off the cup had turned pink after she dripped something from a vial into it. A trick of the light...hopefully. That or she was putting on some sort of show for him. Or she was a witch. Possibly.

Stiles was beginning to think she knew exactly what he was up to, and he was nearly to the point of standing, admitting defeat, and outright begging her to let him look at her private collection...When she received a call. He sighed when she closed the office door, locking herself inside.

Stiles crawled to the end of the stacks, glancing around the corner. Her door was still shut, and he could hear the low hum of her voice inside. He made a face at the door, willing her to leave, and backwards crawled to the small collection of books he'd been combing through, all of them ones Ms. Summers had brought with her but decided to shelf with the reference materials. In fact, most of them were ones she'd forced him to shelf for her, as if deliberately rubbing his nose in the fact that she had awesome reading materials he totally wasn't allowed to take outside the library.

Some of them were interesting, but all of them were off topic. Still, the nudie pics in some of the witchcraft rituals texts were totally worth his time. If it turned out Ms. Summers and Principal Wood were evil and working together, he'd have to point out to them that they probably shouldn't have left such telling books for students to read.

Stiles sighed to himself and shoved a tome about shifters into his bag. It wasn't specific to werewolves and it didn't say anything about Alpha packs, but it might be an interesting read. The seam of the bag split, the corner of a book ripping through the hole, and he swore under his breath.

 _Swoosh. Click._

He froze in place when he heard it, the distinct sound of a door opening.

After a moment of silence, he lifted his head, peeping above a line of books. Nothing. And the office door was still shut, the shadow from the light inside showing Ms. Summers pacing the small room. He scanned the rest of the library; empty, as predicted.

"The crap?" he muttered, pulling his torn bag along as he crawled over to the next stack, just to be on the safe side.

His phone vibrated, this time from his pocket, and he pulled it free, hoping it was a message from Scott. He frowned when he saw it was his dad, telling him his work shift had been altered for the night. At least his dad wouldn't notice he was late getting home. One less lie he'd have to tell.

He toggled over to his messages from Scott, but his friend hadn't replied to his last five texts. This didn't bode well. And now that he considered it, the fact that Allison had backed out of the library heist also didn't bode well. Stiles rolled his eyes. For once, _his_ plans for the evening were the least dangerous. Great.

"I'm supposed to be the one getting into trouble, Scotty! You're supposed to be the one keeping me from doing stupid stuff," he whispered, annoyed.

The shuffle of a footstep at his back was his answer. Stiles swallowed hard, his excuse for why he was hiding in the library on the tip of his tongue when a deep growl cut him off. That didn't sound like Ms. Summers.

"I obviously spoke too soon," he muttered, swallowing hard. Without a second thought, he tossed his ruined bag behind him and heard it bounce off something solid. He barely had a chance to glance over his shoulder at the creature before its massive hand shoved him into the wall, his head snapping back against the plaster.

* * *

"What ever happened to sneaking into big-city clubs to get drunk and take pills that may or may not kill you?" Dawn asked, pinching the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she moved her ruined coffee mug to the tiny work sink at the corner of the office. The smell lifting off its cloudy gray surface in small pinkish plums was becoming truly horrendous. Say what they want about cauldrons being old fashioned, Dawn was going to force Robin to buy her a set if she had to test one more sample of demon goo he brought her way.

And what a laugh that was, she thought, snorting to herself. One minute "Principal Wood" was telling her how he was staying out of the supernatural business and the next he was asking her to help identify a creature that ate one of his faculty members. He owed her. Again.

Andrew's voice was tinny and distracted when it returned. " _Demon hormone cocktails are very trendy right now and super tasty, or so I've heard. I mean, I'd never touch one, even if it was a very attractive nubile youth of demonic origin asking me if I'd like to chase the fairy with...Nevermind_. _My point is, some sleazy demons are willing to take advantage of experimenting young whipper-snappers to test out their products. Oh, crap, my six! Maggie, what in the name of Bobba Fett! Sniper at my six!_ "

Dawn blinked in confusion, then heard the faint sounds of a war zone in the background. Seriously, he couldn't set the game controller down for five seconds? She rolled her eyes. "I'll let you get back to your training, but if you hear back from your source at that club..."

" _Oh, we'll be sending in a few troops as soon as we find out who's passing out the hormone cocktail for Minotaur hybrids. Who would want to make Minotaur hybrids anyway?"_

"Darkside furries?" Dawn chirped.

She stilled, hearing the library door open and close through her thin office walls. Perhaps her little spy had decided to leave after all. She was wondering how long it would take Mr. Stilinski to give up on his mission-had he really thought she didn't see his lusty-face when he spotted her office collection of tomes? She shook her head, smiling faintly. If Robin hadn't run into trouble, she might had even indulged the kid. Next time.

"Well, I should probably report to the principal's office with an update on our creature of the week. Talk later, Andy."

She ended the call, making a face as she poured her testing potion down the drain and tossed the mug. Cauldrons were definitely going on the shopping list.

She pulled her messages up on her cell, ready to type an update to Robin when she heard a rather distinct thud outside her door. "Huh. Sounded a little like a body hitting the floor."


	5. Gotta Have a Little Faith

**Chapter 5: Gotta have a Little Faith**

* * *

"Dawn."

It didn't come out as a question, but a sigh of annoyance. The 'question' was already answered by the scene in front of him. Her purse, phone, sweater, all remained in her office, the door of which was wide open, and here, just past the first row of book stacks, was a collapsed study table, its legs splayed and split.

"We just replaced those," Robin noted, then cringed when he saw the grayish goo smeared over the cracked top of the table and across the rug beneath.

Past the mess, a student's ruined bag lay atop a scattered pile of books, and a fresh bloodstain the side of a half-dollar stood out on the dented cream wall behind it.

Dawn had put up a fight against their mystery monster, and Robin knew she could take care of herself, as any good Watcher could, but his brow furrowed at the other items. He'd hoped to keep these kids protected...He crouched down, carefully picking up a cell phone that was dripping the demon's excretions and currently vibrating with a new call. The screen lit up with the Sheriff's face, the smiling man in uniform easily recognizable, much to Robin's chagrin.

Of course. Of course this belonged to the Sheriff's kid. Stiles Stilinski had a talent for getting into trouble, just like Dawn. He really shouldn't have been surprised.

Robin felt the presence behind him before he heard it. He moved on instinct, twisting into his punch as he stood. A hand caught his fist before it could deliver a blow.

"Still putting the 'pal' in principal," Faith said, amusement in her dark eyes. She smirked at his trapped hand and released him. "And putting in those extra hours, too. School Board really gets their money's worth with you."

It was odd, suddenly seeing her here, in person. Despite the fact that they worked together and talked on the phone regularly, they were both traveling so often, chasing down the Big Bads who refused to come to them and checking on the girls scattered across the world, that he'd only seen her twice in the last year. Robin held back the urge to reach out and touch her. It wasn't that he was a very tactile person or that he was holding on to any lingering desires for the woman who'd swept him off his feet and onto the bed so many years ago. He just...he missed her. But, even if it was intended as a welcoming gesture, he was sure it wouldn't be appreciated. Faith had a problem with touchy-feely, and if he was reading her mood right, this wasn't exactly a social call.

"You're getting a little slow, old man."

"And you're getting a little loud," he said, huffing.

"I wasn't trying to be sneaky, unlike some people."

Robin raised a brow at the comment, catching the hardness in her voice. The playful tone had dissipated, and he wasn't sure why. Faith couldn't know he was here to try and help Marin, and even if she did...Oh, right. _Dawn._ The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. He had no idea how Dawn's decision to surprise him in Beacon Hills was linked to the slayer but he'd bet good money that the frown on Faith's face was due to the youngest Summers. He bit down the urge to ask her.

"You picked a hell of a time to show up," he said.

"Demon problem?"

"Chemistry teacher was eaten. Dawn was on research duty while I disposed of the remains. Now she's missing." Robin didn't miss the way Faith flinched at the sound of the other woman's name.

"So, same old, same old, then?" Faith asked.

"Basically." Robin opened his mouth to continue but a ding from his pocket cut him off. He pulled out his phone. "And it looks like Dawn activated her SOS. Which means she's still alive."

Faith nodded once, her jaw tight. "Good. D and I need to have a little chat."

* * *

It had been a long road to Beacon Hills, but Faith barely remembered the journey. There were days she woke and thought she was living in a different world, one where she was still dancing on the edge of darkness, and then she'd recall that she was supposed to be one of the good guys now. But the universe never let her forget that she'd never quite fit in with them. 'Them' being her allies, the people she occasionally felt were close enough to call friends...the only people in the world who even knew or cared if she was alive or dead, and, _damn_ , she thought, _that's somehow crazier than me not waking up in a prison cell every morning._

Beacon Hills. When she passed the "welcome" sign, it felt like the Powers That Be were screwing her over again. Or maybe the Powers didn't need to bother when they had Dawn Summers to do that job for them.

Faith forced her fingers not to tighten on the wheel. Wouldn't be the first time she'd ripped out a steering column by driving angry.

"How'd you get here so quickly? Weren't you working on a job in Arizona when we were on the phone?" Robin asked.

She glanced over, eyeing the man in the passenger's seat, piddling on his phone, or, at least, that was what it would look like to someone who didn't know he was currently on a rescue mission. His tone was too forced, too casual. She knew he'd already put together the clues and was trying to work out the answer to the question he hadn't asked. Robin was treading too lightly; she must have had murder in her eyes.

Faith took a moment to concentrate on the road signs ahead and her breathing. She was pissed, but it wasn't really at any one person. No. Wrong. Faith Lehane was pissed at _Faith Lehane,_ because she should have known this was going to happen eventually, nosy Summers or not. That stupid witch and her stupid fortune cookie message. Goddamn the universe.

"Going a little fast," Robin noted, not bothering to look up. He groaned at something on the phone. "Well, Andrew sent me another text. Looks like we're after a Minotaur." He read off Andy's comments on his and Dawn's findings, and it felt like business as usual. For a moment Faith felt in her element, mentally mapping out a strategy for the bull-headed student, but an off-subject thought kept circling in her mind, cutting through her concentration.

"Swell," Faith bit, interrupting Robin's thoughts on the beast. She took a hard right at his direction and soaked in the silence a moment longer. "You didn't tell me Dawn was here. You didn't mention her when we were on the phone," she finally said.

"I didn't realize it mattered." He huffed to himself, a habit of his that Faith had always hated. "This is just like you...Roll in here like you're going to set the world on fire, and you just assume I'm somehow working against you, that I'm not on your team. I've _always_ been on your side, Faith. Why the hell you keep doubting that, I'll never know."

Faith schooled her expression, not wanting him to see what that reminder meant to her. It was so easy to forget sometimes. "Dawn...I think she's here with bad info."

"About what?"

"About a slayer."

Robin pushed himself up in his seat. "One we didn't find? How's that possible?"

Faith shook her head. "Not an active slayer. A potential. Dawn's here to groom a potential."

Robin shook his head. "But the slayer line is severed. We've had so many girls die, and not a one of them has been replaced. Willow went on that whole spirit journey to try and figure out the problem, remember? She said the PTB had cut off the slayer line when she activated the girls at the Battle of Sunnydale."

"Yeah, yeah, the 'slayers are no longer a renewable resource' spill. Well, you'll have to ask a Watcher if you want to know the how and why." Faith tried and failed to stop herself from continuing. "All I know is, the seers who used to tell the old Council about potentials, you know so they could steal 'em from their families and train 'em to be killers, those same seers who somehow managed to not even see Buffy coming... Apparently there was a blip on their radar a while back. A girl hit puberty or 'reached her potential power' or something. She...they think she'll be chosen, if the opportunity comes along."

Robin was quiet a moment. "Why didn't I know about this?"

"The Scoobies don't know." She rolled her eyes, knowing without having to turn and look that Robin's jaw had dropped. Not much happened in the WIC without the big dogs knowing. "The Man in the Mirror knows, like he seems to know everything. And apparently friggin' Dawn Summers knows. _I_ know."

"Why you? Why would you know before the others?"

Faith didn't reply. Didn't say the seer had sought her out personally. Because it was just that, personal.

Robin reached out, his fingers on her knee. He squeezed gently. Faith almost wanted to tell him, but she couldn't work up the courage. Like he needed one more example of what a disaster she was, of how much she wasn't like Buffy Summers, like a Slayer _should_ be. Being a coward was somehow the easier option, she reasoned.

"What aren't you telling me, Faith?" Robin asked, but he didn't sound like he expected an answer. After a moment's beat, he pointed at a car in front of them. "There's our monster."

"You sure?"

"Right spot, and it has a Beacon Hills High sticker on its window. I think that's our guy. Speaking of which, I think I even know which student it could be. According to Mr. Harris' notes, he was meeting with a kid named - "

"Robin, I really don't need to know his name if you want me to kill him."

Faith eased back on the gas, falling back a few hundred yards to better stalk her prey. The sedan in front of her was already slowing down, though, making a turn into a storage unit rental lot. Faith ignored him, driving past to make a block.

"He's eaten human flesh," Robin stated, grimly. "As far as Andrew could tell, there's no stopping the transformation process after he feeds. You're right. You don't need to know his name."

It was late in the afternoon, the sky still bright enough to see by, but there weren't any cars parked at the storage units when Faith circled back. No witnesses, a plus for the good guys and the bad guys. The units were lined up like houseless garages, gravel alleys between each long line. The Minotaur must have parked somewhere in the back, hidden from view, which would mean Faith could park in the front, at the far corner from the main office building, equally hidden from him. She eased to a stop, her windows down as she listened. Nothing.

"Think he's rented a unit?"

Robin frowned. "To keep his prey in? You think he planned that far ahead?"

Faith shrugged and slipped out of the bucket seat of her old burnt-orange Charger. She reached behind her seat, and gently lifted the top of the false bench seat in the back. Damn if it didn't pay to have a mechanic who was in-the-know and willing to customize a classic. She pulled free a short-handled double-sided battle axe, its two crescent blades glistening in the sunlight. The corner of Robin's mouth was curved, as if he were fighting a smile.

"Subtle. I don't even want to know what you keep in the trunk, but I now see why you insisted we take your ride. Anything for me?" he asked.

"Like you don't have a knife set in your glove compartment and a gun in your suitcase. Fine, feel free to dig in my toy box," Faith relented, "but this is going to be over quickly."

She didn't bother waiting for him. Her plan was fairly simple, no bells and whistles necessary, and it fell into action as soon as she spotted the dull blue of the sedan. The creature's labored breathing covered the sound of her boots crunching gravel, and it was familiar, those deep huffs, a bull ready to charge. But this bull seemed to mostly be struggling with getting his horned head out of his small car. Fabric in the interior ripped free as he stumbled out, immediately spotting Faith.

Demons really needed to lay off the Mad Scientist role. This guy looked little to nothing like Faith expected a Minotaur to look. His grayish flesh was glistening with goo instead of fur, an almost translucent quality to it, and his nose had spread wide and flattened, his neck too thick for his narrow shoulders. He blinked at her with too-human eyes that were spread far on either side of his skull. He looked pathetic, stuck somewhere between pimpled teenager and bald bull, and Faith would almost have taken pity on him if it wasn't for the blood crusted over his chin. This thing had already killed once today; it wouldn't survive to kill again. She heard a thud from the back of the car, the trunk, and re-focused on that easy plan of hers: take his friggin' head off.

"This would be a good time for a mad cow quip. But I'm not feeling the funny," Faith noted.

The Minotaur snorted and huffed loudly, a low cry leaving its mouth.

" _Hungry_ ," it growled, showing its teeth. " _Mine!_ " Their jagged ridges weren't like anything she'd seen on a cow. The better to tear flesh with, she supposed.

Without another warning, it charged, kicking up gray chunks of gravel that pinged off the side of the sedan. Faith barely moved, taking a step to the side out of its way, and the Minotaur slid to a stop before ramming into the side of a storage unit. Faith kicked out, hitting it square in the chest and it stumbled back toward the car.

Faith sighed and twisted the handle of the axe in her hand so that it spun once, finding an easy hold against her palm. "Sorry, ugly. I don't have time for an action scene."

She faked right and spun to the left just as he moved to follow. Her axe sliced through the air in an arch and cleaved into his thick neck, the weight of the horns sending the lost head backward. It rolled across the length of the car, bouncing off the trunk. The body teetered and fell a second later.

Faith stepped around it and wrenched the trunk open, smiling down at the two captives inside. Dawn blinked several times, her eyes adjusting to the change in light, and, Faith imagined, the younger woman was probably hoping to make sure the slayer in front of her wasn't a hallucination.

"Hey, Brat. How's it hanging?"

Dawn pushed herself up onto her elbows, shoving the teenage boy beside her back down when he attempted to do the same. Faith gave him a quick once over. There was blood matted in his hair, but his gaze seemed steady, even if his expression said he was understandably confused. The slayer's attention went back to Dawn.

"Faith? What are...?" Dawn trailed off, frowning. Faith could see it in her eyes, the very moment when Dawn realized she wasn't going to be able to play this off as a misunderstanding. She knew she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "You going to give me a hand or what?"

Faith shook her head, amused despite herself. Dawn was still Dawn, still head-strong and determined her way was the right way. Who knew she was going to grow up to be a sassy, annoying version of Giles? Faith reached down, grabbing Dawn at the elbow before she toppled out on her own. _Graceful as G-man, too,_ she thought.

Dawn opened her mouth to speak, but Faith cut her off.

"I think the question you were looking for is, 'What are you doing in Beacon Hills?' Oh, wait," Faith said, her smile tightening into a grimace, "that's my line, D. What _the hell_ do you think you're doing in Beacon Hills?"

For a moment, Dawn looked as if she might panic, but she took a deep breath, standing a bit taller, eyes narrowed. "My job," she finally answered.

Faith felt the heat at her cheeks, but she held down her initial response, which included a long string of four lettered words, and pulled Dawn aside. The other woman glanced over her shoulder, sparing the kid in the trunk a glance as Robin arrived to help him out. Both guys made an almost identical expression of disgust when they nearly tripped over the wannabe-Minotaur's severed head. Robin nodded once her way, pulling the teenager back a few feet, to give them space, but they didn't disappear. Of course, Faith thought, she would get stuck with an audience, since Robin couldn't mind his own business, and, from the way the teenager beside him was craning his neck, neither could his students.

"What gives you the fucking right, Dawn?" Faith asked, her voice hushed to a spitting whisper. "And don't act like you don't know why I'm pissed at you. Don't treat me like an idiot. I know you know."

Dawn flinched, as if the words were a slap to the face. "I found out about her a few years ago. Totally by accident, Faith. I wasn't prying. I was looking into some of the old Council paperwork. There wasn't much left, but I found records - Goddess, did those guys like records. I was hoping to find some resources we hadn't tapped into, and some of their information on the hunter families was interesting...when I saw your name, I didn't even know what I was looking at. I mean, the date on that stuff, it was from before you were a slayer and..." Dawn hesitated, a frown on her face. "I'm sorry, Faith. Did you know? About the Council's part in the adoption?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "When the hell did those guys not play a part in our screwed-up lives? I didn't. Not back then. I was a stupid kid, and I didn't know the right questions to ask... I found out later, after they'd all died in an explosion, which is probably a good thing. I think I might have killed them for putting her with hunters." Faith processed the comment, and couldn't take it back. There was a good chance she might have actually followed through on the threat if they were still around.

"Does...?" Dawn shot Robin a side-ways glance and lowered her voice even more. "Does anyone else know about Allison?"

Faith snorted, her eyes stinging at the thought. "No...Hell no. I was...Jesus, Dawn, I was barely...I was fourteen, and an idiot. All I was told was that she was going to some rich people who couldn't have kids. Back then, I thought 'evil' meant assholes who drank too much. I didn't know demons existed, and I guess, after I did find out, I just always assumed that the baby was somewhere far from that stuff. Far from me. Not living with goddamn hunters. But when I found out..."

"There was nothing you could do," Dawn agreed. She bit her bottom lip, as if considering her next words carefully. "I think the Man in the Mirror knew I'd found out. He's the one who told me about the seer. Faith, there's something you might not know about the seer. The coven didn't just point out a potential slayer, one of their elders had a vision."

Faith let go of Dawn's arm, her hand dropping like a dead weight at her side. She found herself staring at her shoes instead of the other woman. She'd just noticed the sun was beginning to set, casting a pink shade over them. It hadn't even been a full day since Xander had called and off-handedly asked if she knew anything about a town called Beacon Hills. Less than a day since she'd realized that Dawn was in on this, and that any plans to stay out of Allison Argent's destiny were shot to shit.

"I already know, Dawn. And I don't believe in that prophetic shit. It never works out like you think it will, so what's the point in it. And even if I did take it seriously, you sending a couple extra slayers to watch my six wouldn't do me any good, now would it? That was subtle, by the way."

"Faith, it's not set in stone. I'm just here to help. Protecting you and helping her, those go hand-in-hand and －"

"No, you're right, her future isn't written, and neither is mine!" Faith snapped, loudly. "Because she's never going to be what I am, get me? So you have no reason to be in this town, Watcher."

Dawn reached out, gently squeezing Faith's shoulder, but she kept quiet, neither relenting or fighting the statement. Faith lost some of her steam, feeling exhausted. She'd spent too many nights up, having this argument with herself, unable to stand the idea of this girl's fate being out of her hands.

A cough interrupted the pair. Robin was trying to catch their attention, his cell phone out and his gaze moving between them and the screen. "Actually, she might have a reason to be in this town, after all. If the two of you are finished, I just got a tip about a fight that's going down tonight. Anyone want to help break up a werewolf brawl?"

"You 'got a tip'?" Faith asked.

She raised a brow when the teenager beside him groaned, eyes toward the heavens. "You've got to be kidding me." He groaned. "I told him to wait..."

Robin also raised a brow at the comment. "Something you'd like to share, Mr. Stilinski?" His phone chirped with another text message. After reading it, his expression soured. "Perhaps about your best friend, Scott McCall, meeting a nefarious Alpha werewolf at an abandoned mall?"

The teen opened and closed his mouth. "I...no. No way. This whole afternoon could have been some sort of elaborate scheme to prove you're not evil so that I trust you enough to give up information on Scott. Not happening, buddy. I've been suspicious of your cookie-cutter good looks and 'I put the 'pal' in principal' smile since day one."

"In his defense, it's only, like, day five," Dawn commented, when Faith chuckled at the kid's comment, an echo of her own.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone always think I'm evil?"

"You give off a vibe," Dawn noted. "Stiles, listen, you've cracked your skull at the library and been kidnapped by a demon hybrid harboring homoerotic fantasies about you. Happens to the best of us. So, I'll excuse you for not immediately jumping on the idea of going with us to rescue your bestie from a pack of werewolves who are most likely planning an _actual_ trap for him."

"What's a 'Stiles'?" Faith muttered.

" _I'm_ a Stiles!" the teen snapped. He stared at the two women, a dubious expression on his face, before he finally sighed. "I need a ride anyway. Are we still even in Beacon Hills? Frickin' Greenberg..."


	6. The Leader of the Pack

**Chapter 6: The Leader of the Pack**

* * *

" _...the last of the line's choosing must fall, and only from the blood of her blood will wrong be righted, the Slayers line will begin anew..."_

* * *

Dawn used to have a list of reasons why she hated Faith Lehane, but most of the bulletpoints were scratched out in favor of the one in bold print, unlined three times: _she tried to kill my sister._ It was fairly solid on its own. If they were normal people, something like that would be enough to keep them enemies for life, no questions asked. But they weren't normal. And, occasionally the world was rocked so hard that differences were, honest to God, put aside for the greater good. The Battle of Sunnydale definitely qualified as a world rocker.

Dawn couldn't put a finger on _when_ she'd become friends with the other woman, but she could remember the morning that she realized they definitely weren't enemies. On her twenty-first birthday, Dawn had found herself in a strange country on what was supposed to be an awesome sister-bonding vacation without Buffy, who, through no fault of her own, was trapped in a time bubble within a demon circus in Canada. Sister or no sister, Dawn had partaken in the traditional drinking part of the celebration. Faith had somehow drawn the short straw when Dawn had experienced her first time being on the happier side of the 'drunk dial'. Dawn didn't quite remember the details when she woke up the next morning with a massive hangover, but she did recall Faith staying on the phone with her for over two hours in an attempt to keep her from doing something stupid. They'd talked about television and fashion and made fun of Buffy height. It had been a wake-up call when she realized those weren't the actions of an ally; they were the actions of a real friend.

Sure, they didn't meet for brunch or Skype regularly, but, even across a distance, through the years, they made an effort to be nicer to each other. So, it hurt a little, knowing that Faith was carrying extra baggage on her own, keeping secrets. Secrets, like how she'd probably have to die before the Slayer line was restored.

Dawn's breathing hitched slightly at the thought, and she made a face, suddenly more than happy to focus on the problem right in front of her instead of a hypothetical problem of mystical origin. She palmed her purse, and the last-resort wolfsbane grenade inside in case this plan didn't work, and glanced over her shoulder, giving Robin a pointed look. The man seemed to read her expression. He kept his hand over the gun he'd strapped to his belt and made a show of standing closer to Stiles to protect the kid if this went downhill.

Then she gave Faith a little wink of encouragement ( _another day working for the Watcher's International Council, nothing to see here_ ) before hardening her expression. The small group marched past the broken chains on the front doors and into the main corridor of the mall. Up ahead, they could already hear a scuffle taking place on the ground floor, echoing through the entire building. They were lucky local law enforcement was probably too stretched thin to investigate.

Dawn knew that Faith could likely hear the exchange ahead even better than she could, when the noise suddenly cut off, a smooth British accent filling the void with an option. As soon as she stepped into view, Dawn assessed the situation. Evil blind dude was telling cute-but-scruffy he could either kill his beta or his sister. Totally predictable.

"Wow, do they teach that at the villain academy or something?" Dawn asked.

All talking suddenly stopped, and, yes, Dawn would admit it; it was kind of fun to be able to sneak up on a crowd of preoccupied werewolves. First time for everything, she supposed.

"Who," the blind wolf said, his head cocked as if to catch her scent, "is that?"

"It's...our school librarian?"

The answer came from one of the twin Alpha werewolves. Dawn couldn't remember who was who, but she did remember spotting the dangerous pair on campus. She gave the Alpha pack, and the beaten local pack in their clutches, a bright smile, the one her friends often labeled as 'annoyingly cheerful.' She'd done her homework going into Beacon Hills, so, from the not-so-legally obtained rap sheet, she recognized the local pack's Alpha, Derek Hale, the cute-but-scruffy who was in a Peter Parker-like predicament. And, due to his murderous reputation stretching across the state, she'd have to assume blind dude was the werewolf known as Deucalion. While Dawn hadn't known that Hale had a younger living sister, she did recognize the others in his pack (or whatever kids were calling it these days) from Robin's files. Isaac, Boyd, Scott... Scott's eyes widened when he saw her.

"Stiles!"

Or, well, saw who was standing behind her. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Stiles waving excitedly and mouthing the words "NOT EVIL" while pointing at Robin. A step in the right direction.

"The librarian and the _principal_?" the other Alpha twin tossed in, sounding as confused as his brother.

"And what, pray tell, is the school principal and librarian doing here?" Deucalion asked.

Dawn raised a brow at him－ _someone didn't enjoy being interrupted while assaulting teenagers_ －and then turned to Faith. After a moment's beat, Faith held up a hand to her, releasing the situation.

"Nah, you do this part so much better, D," she admitted.

Dawn shrugged, then put on her happy face. "Hi, there, Mr. Deucalion, or do you prefer Mr. Demon Wolf? I've heard it both ways from the friends and family of the packs you've helped decimate." There was a bit of bite to her chipper voice. She took a step forward, ignoring the female Alpha's growl as she came closer. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm sure you have an awesome recruitment speech you're just dying to deliver to Mr. Hale, but we just _had_ to stop in. See, we're new to the neighborhood, too, and we've yet to receive a single fruit basket. My name is Dawn Summers, and this..." Faith stepped up to her side, absolutely not smiling. "This is my associate, Faith Lehane. Now, seeing as we don't usually interfere with pack wolves, there's a chance you might not recognize us based on our names alone. If you'd like to pull out your phones and Google us, feel free. I'll wait. You might want to cross-reference the little town-that-was, Sunnydale."

Predictably, none of the Alphas moved.

"No?" she asked. "I find it a bit hard to believe that you don't recall the sinking of Sunnydale, but alright then. We'll pretend you're stupid."

Faith moved quickly, a blade dropping from the sleeve of her jacket as she leaped forward, her slender stiletto blade precise as she slid it into the female Alpha's kneecap and twisted, a loud pop sounding beneath the flesh. The werewolf howled in pain, falling back, away from the blade. The younger werewolf under her rolled out of the way, crouching at her brother's side. Before the others could react, the high pop of gunfire filled the air and the Alpha lingering behind Boyd fell back, clawing at his own eye in sudden panic. A trail of purple smoke leaked up from between the wolf's fingers as he fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

All sides tensed, ready for attack, and Dawn raised her index finger. "Wait," she warned. Amazingly, they, minus the guy digging into his eye socket on the floor, stilled. She tried to hide how giddy she was; this approach rarely worked in real-life scenarios.

"Let's try again, since name-dropping obviously isn't cutting it with you guys. Have you ever heard of the Watcher's Council?"

Deucalion's growl left the shattered glass on the floor vibrating. _Bingo._

"Well, that got a response," Robin noted.

"Oh, yes. _The Council,_ " Deucalion spat, eyes flashing with anger. The bone and muscle beneath his face rippled, threatening to transform. Dawn could have sworn the guy was looking _at_ her with those blood red eyes. "One could say the Council is the very reason we are gathered here today," he said, venom hanging from his words. "I used to believe in the Great Treaty they proposed. I fought for its continued renewal, even when other packs were hesitant. It was a path to peace, the hunters with their code, the packs with their own, and the Council there to insure that one side did not try to overtake the other, to _police_ us, if you will. Of course, we found out how temporary such peace was when the Council withdrew support, when the hunters began their vicious attacks. So, yes, girl, I know the Council, the one that left us bleeding and weak."

"Withdrew?" Dawn interrupted, trying to hide her surprise.

She was going to have a nice long chat with Robin in the near future about sharing details from his not-so-secret tipster. While she'd read about the Council contracting hunting families as their associates, and she knew there was a treaty, she didn't realize the Council itself had held quite so much control over the wolves in this region too. She wracked her brain, considering what she'd learned about the Hale family, about the supernatural problems in the area. From the reports of 'animal attacks' and mutilated corpses, there hadn't been many problems before the Hales had died...which, now that she considered that, was right after the Council was destroyed. She fought the urge to give the remaining Hales another glance, reconsider how their lives might have been different if she, if any of the Scoobs, had known about this after Sunnydale and been able to step in and fill the old Council's shoes.

"Okay, that's one way to say they were blown to smithereens," Dawn continued. "But, as I was going to say...The Council. Yeah, we're not those guys. We're the new and improved Watcher's International Council, now under new management. And even though we've been in the game for over a decade, we're still picking up the pieces the old Council left behind. You might have heard a little rumor about an army of super girls? Yeah, it's a time stealer, raising teens."

Deucalion shifted his weight; Dawn noticed and smirked. "Oh, so you _do_ know about Slayers? Good. Most young werewolves don't, because, frankly, werewolves aren't usually a problem for us. In fact, we tend to like our wolfy buddies. In fact, in China, we helped a monk pack with－"

"You're drifting," Faith reminded. She wiped the edge of her knife off on her jeans, and took over. "What D here is trying to say is, we don't slay werewolves, unless they're murderous, power-hungry sons of bitches who don't understand that no means no. Sound familiar?"

Deucalion bore his teeth at them. "Is that a threat?"

"We don't make threats, we make promises," Robin assured, "and you've made the mistake of dinging our radar. I came here in hopes of reinstating that treaty, and maybe that'll happen, but even if it does, it's not going to include you."

"Leave," Faith offered. "Now. We'll give you a head start before we send our girls after you. Hell, we'll even give your pack a chance to redeem itself, but if we even get a whiff of blood in the air..."

"The hunters will never have a chance at you," Dawn finished. "We'll find you first."

* * *

She'd been on edge the last two days, and with good reason. Aside from the vivid memories of her mother haunting her at every turn, Allison had to deal with an unwelcome stop-in from an accusing Scott (next time, she was making sure no arrows were left behind), as well as a confrontation with her father, both arguments concerning her inability to leave behind the dangerous world of hunting. But she couldn't. How would anyone be able to step aside, knowing their friends were in danger? And there was more to it than that, another reason that Allison now found herself in an abandoned mall instead of at home studying like a normal high school student. It was hard for to explain...no, _impossible_ for her to explain to her father, but she couldn't _not_ show up.

There was this urge, it crawled beneath her skin, making her itch for action, like she was an addict in need of a fix, and despite her best intentions, she couldn't ignore it. And she didn't _want_ to ignore it.

Allison's heart had been rattling her chest with anticipation since she'd received Isaac's text message about Scott trying to make peace with the Alpha pack. Well, Isaac had used fewer words, but Allison had gotten the hint, and apparently she wasn't the only one. Isaac promised to keep an eye on Scott, but from his message, she was certain the rest of the pack was doing the same. There was going to be trouble, and Scott might be walking straight into it. And then there was the whole idea of Isaac contacting her in the first place, which was...different. She'd cast those thoughts aside and focused on a plan. There was a good chance her dad would find out about the texts, but she'd make sure he'd be too late to stop her.

She'd still been wound tight when she ducked out of meeting with Stiles after school to pack a weapons' bag and track down Scott and Isaac. But now that she was here, hiding in the shadows, bow at the ready, an eerie calm settled over her. It frightened her more than the scene down below, of the werewolves at blows. It scared her how easily she could switch modes and go from nervous school girl to warrior.

"This is what you are, Allison. You're a killer."

Allison froze at the sound of the voice, seeing _her_ at the corner of her eye. She knew it wasn't real, couldn't be. Her mother was dead. She'd seen the body, and this...this image of her was almost too mockingly perfect to ever be mistaken for real, but it haunted her, nevertheless.

Victoria stepped up to Allison's side and bent forward so that she was talking into her ear. "It's okay, Allison. You are what you are. Don't fight it."

She refused to look at her mother, refused to acknowledge the comments.

"Aim the bow," Victoria said, with a small, encouraging smile. "Just aim it. Any of them will do, but you know which one is the real trophy." Her mother's voice hardened slightly. "Derek Hale. Look at him, Allison. Look at how weak he is. Killing him, though...that won't hurt him half so much as aiming at that precious pack of his. Take aim, Allison."

Allison tried to ignore the woman, but she raised her bow.

"They're all monsters, Allison. How can you even tell them apart? They're all fangs and teeth. They'll eat you up, little girl. Shoot. _Shoot now!_ "

Allison barely managed to stop herself before the release.

The sound of a voice had stopped her. Allison lowered her weapon slightly, shocked to see the school librarian walking up to the werewolves as if she'd simply strolled in to ask for directions. Allison shifted her angle, catching sight of another brunette woman beside her and of Principal Wood behind her, and held close to his side...

"Stiles?"

The calm of battle was gone. If Stiles had been right about Principal Wood being involved in this and she'd left him alone at the school with the man, it would be her fault if he was hurt. She bit down the urge to move, call out, do something. Instead she froze, confused by the scene before her as the newcomers attacked Kali and Ennis.

What the hell was going on down there?

She almost expected an answer in the form of her mother's voice, but the hallucination had ended, over as quickly as it had begun, and Allison doubled her concentration on the group downstairs.

She could barely make out what they were saying, and most it didn't make much sense, but she waited it out, watching Derek's pack and Scott, hoping for some sort of sign. Instead, the woman beside Ms. Summers－Dawn, as she'd insisted Allison call her－glance up while the others were talking. Allison crouched down further, certain she'd been spotted, but the unknown woman didn't give away her location, so Allison took the opportunity to study her face. She didn't know the woman from school, she was certain, even if there was something familiar about her eyes. The woman nodded once, an acknowledgment that she'd spotted the hunter, before she turned her attention back to the Alphas.

"Who are you?" Allison whispered.

There had been an answer, somewhere down below, from Dawn. A name, "Faith", had echoed up. It didn't mean anything to Allison, but she held on to it, knowing that she'd have to give herself away and ask her father about the group of hunters, if that was even what they were. Hopefully, she'd be able to ask Stiles, too.

Allison wasn't sure how long the confrontation lasted, but it seemed like only a few minutes had passed when she saw Kali hobble up to Deucalion, to lead him away. The twins helped with the big guy, spitting out a few threats as they turned away, figurative tails between their legs.

Allison blinked down at them, confused, but she didn't have time to stay that way. The remaining group was already at verbal blows, Derek shouting something about "slayers" not being real. Allison wasn't exactly sure what that meant. She moved down a few yards, trying to find a better place to hear them.

"Save your questions," she heard the principal request. The man gave Stiles a pat on the back, as if releasing him back to his friends, and the boy ran to Scott's side, talking rapidly if his animated arms were anything to judge from. Principal Wood coughed to interrupt him. "Let's move this conversation to somewhere safer. We'll meet you at the school in half an hour."

"Safer?" Stiles snapped.

The principal looked abashed. "Better lit," he amended.

Faith turned from the group, staring up at Allison again, this time less subtly. "And bring Hawkeye with you. Tell her to stop and pick up her father on the way. We're only telling this story once."

* * *

 _A/N you can probably ignore: for those reading on AO3, yes, I'll be updating with fresh chapters soon (and my updates will be synced up). Thanks so much for your continued support. I hope you're all enjoying the story. Concerning the last few chapters, I've tinkered with the events of the episode "Frayed", basically so that they've stretched out over two days between Scott's meeting with Deucalion and then Derek, and the trip to the abandoned mall (which seemed to take place over one day in the episode, I think). Canon divergent, y'all._


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